Sunday, June 17
6:22 P.M.
An undisclosed location, in a very nice house
180 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
Susan Howell was a prisoner—there was no other word for it. They were treating her nicely enough, with plenty of food and a fairly luxurious room, but that didn’t mean anything. A room you can’t leave, no matter how nice, is a prison, and the person trapped inside was a prisoner.
She had one window, and she’d tried getting out that way, but it was barred from the outside. Looking out between the bars she could see a wide, green lawn, ringed by giant maple trees—sugar maples, by the look of them; her parents had several in their yard on Long Island. Was this Long Island? She’d been unconscious when they brought her here, and they’d told her it was a tropical island, but what kind of tropical island had sugar maples? And it smelled like Long Island: hydrangeas and sea salt and money. This was definitely Long Island, and fairly far east. The Hamptons, maybe. She’d grown up in the Hamptons, with her one-percenter parents. She’d know it anywhere. But who kept people prisoner in the Hamptons?
It didn’t matter what they were doing, and it didn’t matter why. She was a prisoner, and she hated it.
When the time came, she would destroy them.
An hour after dinner the door opened again, revealing one of the thugs—a tall, thickset man with receding hair and a coiled wire behind his ear. His name was Larry, or at least she thought it was—he had a twin somewhere in the house, as well, and she couldn’t be sure which one this was. She’d seen them together once, and was so surprised to discover there were two of them that she couldn’t help but ask why they’d both gone into the evil corporate thug business. They’d scowled and refused to answer, so she assumed it was a touchy subject—which only made it more intriguing.
Larry gestured to her, beckoning her to the hallway, and her eyes widened in surprise.
“A trip outside my room? What’s the special occasion?”
“Hurry, please.”
“You’re talkative today.” Susan slid off the bed and walked to the door. “Is this exercise time, or something? Take me out in the yard, let me lift some weights, maybe get a prison tattoo?”
“Meeting,” said the thug. “That way.” He pointed down the hall, and Susan stifled her disappointment.
The thug led her into a large room, filled with couches and chairs and little tables with vases on them. It was also filled with people, and Susan instantly recognized some of them: there was Cynthia Mummer, the CFO at NewYew; there was Sun-He the lawyer, and Jeffrey the president, and … there was Cynthia again, and … there she was again, and …
“What on earth?” said Susan.
“Ah,” said one of the Cynthias, “our final guest has arrived. Please, Ms. Howell, have a seat.”
Susan looked around the room in shock, counting in her head: Three, four, five … five Cynthias. Four Sun-Hes. Two, three, four Jeffreys. Most of them look as shocked as I am. What’s going on?
And where’s Lyle?
“Please,” said the same Cynthia who had spoken before. She didn’t look frightened like the others; she looked calm and cool and in charge. “Have a seat, Ms. Howell, and I’ll explain everything.”
Susan stared at the woman, weighing the risks of punching her in the face, but decided it wasn’t worth it—all five of the thick-necked thugs were here, and it looked like they’d brought a few friends.… Wait. She looked at the thugs again, suddenly aware of similarities she’d never noticed before: Larry the thug wasn’t just a twin, he was an octuplet. What was going on?
Susan opened her mouth, shut it, and took a step toward the nearest sofa. One of the other Cynthia Mummers was sitting on it, and Susan stopped, balking at the idea of sitting next to her. Who are they? What’s going on? The thug who’d brought her shoved Susan down onto the sofa, and she shivered at the close proximity to the unsettling doppelgänger.
“Sure,” said the Cynthia on the sofa, “you get the hottie and I get this. I can barely stand to look at myself.”
Susan stared at her. “Ms. Mummer?”
“Is that her name?” The Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. No, my name’s Tony. Tony Hicks.” She stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’re making good use of that body.”
“All right,” said First Cynthia, standing in the middle of the room. She was definitely the one in charge. “Let’s get started.”
Susan looked around the room and noted all the exits: two large windows, two hallways, and a door in the back. All were being guarded by thugs.
“For many of you,” said First Cynthia, “this is the first time you’ve seen the others. It may come as a shock, though presumably not as shocking as the first time you realized your body was changing into someone else. I’m here to explain what that change means, and to make you an offer.” She held up a small plastic bottle; Susan recognized it from the lab at work. “How many of you have seen this before?”
Some of the people tentatively raised their hands, including the Tony/Cynthia on the sofa next to her. Susan didn’t move, refusing to play along, but she identified the bottle immediately as Lyle’s new antiaging lotion.
And Tony Hicks…, she thought. I know that name.… He was one of the men in the lotion test.
Is that what this is about?
“This is a bottle of ReBirth,” said First Cynthia, “NewYew’s newest product and, to be frank, a technological wonder the likes of which the world has never seen before. Through various circumstances, some accidental and some not, each of you has been exposed to ReBirth, and it has altered your DNA to turn you into somebody else. The exception, of course, is Ms. Susan Howell, who started turning into someone else and was instead turned back into herself.”
“That’s your real body?” asked Tony/Cynthia. “Wow.” She scooted closer. “You, uh … busy later?”
Susan grimaced and scooted away.
“On July third,” First Cynthia continued, “just a few weeks away, NewYew will be launching ReBirth as part of a massive global event. It’s going to revolutionize the beauty industry and, as I’m sure you can guess from personal experience, the entire world. It can replace a person’s entire body with a new one—one that’s younger, healthier, more attractive. Age and illness will be a thing of the past. ReBirth will usher in a world where race and appearance are no longer barriers but a means of personal expression. Imagine a world where biological prejudice is not only absent but completely meaningless. How many of you would like to help that world become a reality?”
One of the Sun-Hes raised his hand. “Are you going to let us go or not?”
“Straight to the point,” said First Cynthia, flashing a practiced smile. “Let’s say we did let you go: where would you go to? Back to your family, to try in vain to convince them you’re you instead of me? Back to your jobs, which you can’t prove are actually yours? You’re not yourselves anymore; letting you go would be, perhaps, the cruelest thing we could do.”
Susan exhaled sharply. “So you’re locking us up because you’re nice? Listen, lady, we’re not that stupid—we know when we’re being screwed, and right now you are definitely screwing us. Let’s drop the act, okay?”
First Cynthia studied her, frowning, then raised an eyebrow and nodded. “All right then, let’s put this in very simple terms. You look like us because you are our insurance policy. ReBirth is a revolution, and revolutions are rarely peaceful, and while many of our executives have moved overseas some of us will be required to stay behind and oversee the launch event. There’s a strong chance that in doing so we will be arrested.”
Susan’s jaw dropped. “You want us to go to jail in your place?”
“Exactly the opposite,” said First Cynthia. “If you choose to help us, and follow our plan, none of us will go to jail at all.”
“Why would we help you, though?” asked Susan. “You’ve kidnapped us, you’ve locked us up here, you’ve … done some kind of crazy crap to our bodies. I’m the only one here who’s still me, and I hate you—I can’t imagine what the unwilling post-op Tony must be feeling. We should be throwing you in jail, not helping you stay out of it.”
“Valid points,” said First Cynthia. “And I suppose it is possible that some of you might actually want to hurt us instead of help us. But that’s only because you haven’t heard my offer yet.” She held up the bottle again and looked around the room. “Let’s start with a dose of ReBirth, completely pure. You’ve seen what it can do—it changes your entire body, from the inside out, into anyone you imprint it with. Give us the help we need, and you’ll have your very own sample to imprint on any body you want.”
Tony/Cynthia leaned forward, suddenly interested; Susan glanced to the side and saw several more of the clones perk up to attention.
One of the Jeffreys shook his head. “Are you kidding? You think you can just reset us back to the way we were and pretend this never happened?”
“I’m not talking about resetting you,” said First Cynthia. “The unfortunate truth is that getting your old body back is probably impossible at this stage—though the presence of Ms. Howell is, of course, proof that it can be done.”
“Wait,” said Susan, finally sorting through the confusion. “Is that how you cured my leprosy? You turned me into a … clone of myself?”
“Technically, yes,” said First Cynthia. “We even turned you into a younger clone of yourself. That body is only nineteen years old.”
Tony/Cynthia gave her an appraising look, and smiled lecherously. Susan gagged and scooted farther away.
“Think of it,” said First Cynthia, turning back to the main group. “With this lotion you can turn yourself into anyone you want—anyone at all. Tall, short, black, white, male, female, there’s literally no limit. You want to play for the NBA? You want to be a supermodel? You can do it—you can do anything you want.”
“No,” said Susan. “This is wrong.”
First Cynthia laughed coldly. “You’re a lot more like Lyle than I expected. Did he rub off on you, or did you rub off on him?” She smiled harshly. “Or was it just general rubbing?”
Tony/Cynthia snickered, and Susan felt her face grow hot. “You can’t do this to people,” she said. “You can’t take them away and lock them in a prison and then bribe them with their own bodies to help you do something even worse.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Cynthia, “but like you said, you’re the only one here who’s still herself. What about the guy next to you?” She pointed at Tony/Cynthia. “You think he likes being a bony old witch like me? You think he likes being a woman at all? Ask him how much he wants to change—ask him what he’d do for a chance to start over.”
Susan looked at Tony/Cynthia; he/she fidgeted in the sofa, frowning.
“This is wrong,” Susan told him/her. “No matter what you get out of it, it’s wrong.”
“Don’t decide yet,” said First Cynthia, “because I’m about to sweeten the deal.” She reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of cash. “In addition to your new body and the new life that comes with it, each and every one of you will receive a cool million dollars.”
Excited murmurs filled the room; Susan heard Tony/Cynthia mutter, “Now we’re talking.”
“One million dollars,” First Cynthia repeated, “in cash. You can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. And in return, all you have to do is stay here for two, maybe three weeks; eat our food, and pretend to be us. It’s as simple as that.”
Tony/Cynthia raised his/her hand. “I’m in.” Several more people raised their hands in agreement. “We’re all in.”
“But what about me?” Susan asked. “Are you going to turn me into one of … you? And what about Dr. Fontanelle—I notice there aren’t any copies of him. Is he one of the ones that’s already fled the country?”
Did he even try to help me?
“He’s still here,” said First Cynthia. “But he doesn’t need protection. He’s the one who created ReBirth—the government won’t lock him up, they’ll try to use him. But thanks to you, they won’t get anything out of him.”
Susan glared at her. “So I’m a hostage.”
“Lyle is attached to you, Ms. Howell; it is a hopeless, brainless infatuation. And so as long as we have you, he will never work against us.”